<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Fading In by BrennanSpeaks</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25731313">Fading In</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrennanSpeaks/pseuds/BrennanSpeaks'>BrennanSpeaks</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Last of Us</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canon Compliant, Dark, Death, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Torture</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:20:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,010</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25731313</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrennanSpeaks/pseuds/BrennanSpeaks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Even as the world starts to go dark, Joel's not mad that it happened like this.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fading In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Yes, I went there.  This is shameless self-therapy.  Heed the warnings.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The pain's starting to fade.  There's still a part of Joel that's aware enough to know what that means.  Oh well.  He'd known he was dead from the second he heard the shotgun.</p>
<p>The first part was hell.  Joel's not sure, now, whether that lasted two minutes or two hours, but he remembers - in a far-off, hazy sort of way - that the pain was blinding and sharp when it started.  More than that, though, he remembers the clarity - at least, the way you'd remember an impossible color you saw in a half-forgotten dream.  He knows that the pain wasn't the worst part.  It was the waiting in between the blows.  It was looking up into a room full of strange faces twisted by hate and knowing he was gonna die and not knowing how bad they were gonna make it and being so damn worried about . . . Who was he worried for, again?  He can't quite remember.</p>
<p>He'd been determined not to beg them, and he doesn't think he did.  He's screamed, sure.  Nothing to be done about that.  But, he's pretty sure he never pleaded for his life or apologized for . . . Why was it they came after him?  He's not sure if they told him.  Don't matter, anyhow.</p>
<p>The girl hits harder than just about anyone he's ever crossed, but she doesn't know what she's doing.  If she really wanted to make it last, she wouldn't keep hitting him in the damn head.  Each blow feels like a thunderclap at close range, but in between they just make everything hazy.  He's almost grateful for that, in a way, though he knows that's what's killing him fastest.</p>
<p>His vision's been in and out.  The hits to the head explode white and yellow and black across his eyes and then cut to black like a TV screen switched off.  If she gives him enough time in between, though, the world fades back in, just fuzzy at the edges.  It's taking longer, he thinks, between the hit and the fade back.  He can see their lips moving at times, but his hearing is completely out.  Or, rather, any real sound is drowned out by a booming drum in his head.  That's his heartbeat.  He realized that a little while ago.  It hurt at first, but not anymore.</p>
<p>As it all fades in and out, he's able to . . . just drift.  Just be free, for a while, from his cherished mandate of <em>survival.</em>  That's done, for better or for worse.  He always figured he'd go down angry and fighting, but now that his time's here, there don't seem to be a point in that.  Maybe she's already knocked out the part of his brain that lets him get mad.  Maybe she should've done that years ago.</p>
<p>His memories are fracturing and splitting apart, and that's worse, but it's not more than he can take.  He can protect some of 'em, at least so far.  It's just a matter of picking out the ones that matter and building walls around them.  A sun-soaked soccer field, Tommy trying to wrestle a trout out of the lake, giraffes striding across an old  ball field, Ellie stepping nervously onto his porch . . . He builds the highest, strongest walls around that last one.  They don't get to take that away from him.</p>
<p>He barely notices a hit that catches him in the shoulder.  There's no point in trying to anticipate it - it hurts no worse than gettin' stung by a BB gun as a kid.  He drifts and thinks on things - little stuff and big stuff, all mixed together because it doesn't matter anymore, or maybe all of it matters, and all the same.  Shit, he can't remember if he washed out his coffee cup last night or just left it in the sink.  Ellie's gonna find it.  She always did hate the smell of coffee . . .</p>
<p>The blows to the head still have the power to get his attention.  A particularly nasty one catches him just behind his left temple and whips his head to the side, forcing him to gasp for breath through cracked ribs.  For a moment, in the dark that follows, he's forced to remember just how battered and broken this body of his is.</p>
<p>His head is still lolling to the side when he drifts back in and he finds himself staring at a pair of bare feet, peeking out from under plaid-striped pajama pants.  He wants to tell her to put on socks.  The tile is cold.</p>
<p>She kneels just in front of him and  puts a small hand on his shoulder - the less battered one, where hardly any blows have fallen.  "It's okay, Daddy."</p>
<p>He stares at her and tries to swallow.  He thinks of how . . . every time he'd been so close to giving up on the world, life had given him some little miracle or other that kept him at it a bit longer.  Maybe death is the same.  "Sarah . . ."</p>
<p>She smiles, though it's a little shaky.  "Don't be scared."  Her voice cuts through the drumming - the first human voice he's heard in what feels like hours.</p>
<p>"I'm not," he whispers, "It's jus' . . . now that you're here, I want a couple more minutes."</p>
<p>
  <em>(They see him staring straight ahead, sightlessly.  They see his lips move, releasing nothing but a slurred groan.  They see him suddenly double over from a strike to the belly that he barely notices.)</em>
</p>
<p>She blinks and nods sadly.  "We've got a little time."</p>
<p>The next blow is to the head.  When the world goes black, he almost panics for a moment.  What if she's not there when it all comes back?</p>
<p>Vision returns, and with it, her face.  The world's a bit darker and hazier at the edges, but she's bright and clear, as if she's bathed in sun.  "It's okay.  I'm not goin' anywhere."</p>
<p>His breath hisses out.  Behind her, though, he can see Abby's boots stalking close again.  "Careful, honey.  I don't want her gettin' you with that club."</p>
<p>Sarah doesn't move.  The golf club whistles down and bites into his good leg.  Where she's crouched, it should've hit her, but it doesn't.  Doesn't go through her, either.  She's just . . . okay.</p>
<p>"They can't hurt me."</p>
<p>Joel closes his eyes briefly, then opens them.  "All the same, girl, why don't you come over here?  Keep away from her."</p>
<p>He holds out his arm, and she tucks herself against his right side, head on his shoulder.  Blood from the shotgun blast is staining her pant leg, but other than that, Joel's hardly been hit on that side.  He can feel her body against his.  It doesn't hurt, like pulling someone against his broken ribs should.  He leans his cheek against her forehead.</p>
<p>
  <em>(They see his right hand twitch and his head flop to the side.  He's moaning again - still wordless.  "For fuck's sake, Abby," someone mutters, "You might as well be roughing up a corpse.")</em>
</p>
<p>Her body is small and warm, and more real than anything he can remember.  She reaches up to touch his cheek.  "Christ, you're gettin' so cold."</p>
<p>He smiles a little.  "It gets cold in the mountains, this time of year.  I should've dressed warmer."</p>
<p>"You don't have to lie to me, Daddy.  I know."</p>
<p>Softly, he touches one of the protected memories.  One that's not like all the rest.  Muddy ditches and the hot Texas air and the smell of gunfire.  A croaking cry.  A whimper.  A slackening hand in his.  Her hand now finds his again and tightens.  "You were there for me.  I'm gonna stay here with you."</p>
<p>Tears trickle down his face, drawing tracks through the blood like watercolors.  "I . . . I just made everything worse."</p>
<p>"No you didn't."</p>
<p>"You were hurtin', and I jus' . . ."</p>
<p>"You didn't make it worse."  She leans up to press her forehead against his.  "Daddy.  You gotta let that one go.  Let the walls down."</p>
<p>"I can't . . . I can't forget you . . ."</p>
<p>"You <em>won't.</em>  Just let it go."  She stares into his eyes, asking him to believe her.</p>
<p>He loosens his grip on a memory that, after everything, still feels like it happened last night.  The next blow snaps his head around, and he sees the Austin back road erupt in white and yellow flame and then fade to black.  Gone.</p>
<p>The world fades back.  It's mostly just a collection of blurs and faint blue shapes, but she's still there.  "See?"</p>
<p>He smiles at her, as the relief washes through.</p>
<p>
  <em>(They see him smile through broken lips.  They don't understand, and it makes one of them angry.  She hits him harder.)</em>
</p>
<p>His body rocks from the blow to his chest.  Sarah tries to steady him.  "I hate seeing you like this.  She . . . she didn't have to do it like this."</p>
<p>"I'm glad she did," Joel whispers, "If . . . if she'd done it clean . . . like I wanted?  I'd have been gone already.  I never would've got to see you again."</p>
<p>The drums are louder.  They almost drown out even her voice.  He doesn't notice the blow to his shoulder until he's falling, landing face down, his left hand stretching out.</p>
<p>She folds her legs and curls up beside him on her side, her face inches from his.  She lays her hand over his gloved one and squeezes.  "Won't be long now.  You can stop fighting, Daddy."</p>
<p>
  <em>(They barely even notice him.  The room is erupting into chaos and he's in the quiet eye of a hurricane.)</em>
</p>
<p>He closes his eyes briefly, then opens them.  "I want to.  But, I can't.  What if I can't see you anymore?  After?"</p>
<p>She smiles.  "Why'd you go through all that trouble of making me get baptized if you're gonna talk like that?"</p>
<p>His face softens at the memory of an eight-year-old girl, wrapped in a white dress and indignant at a dunk in the river.  "I'll let you in on a little secret, baby girl.  It was your mother that wanted you baptized."  His face freezes.  "What if I can't see you?  Or . . ."</p>
<p>"Well, there's only one way to find out, right?"</p>
<p>There's not much left of his vision but swirling blue haze, but in the space behind Sarah, another face materializes, level with his own.  Red-brown hair.  A dusting of freckles.  A nose bloodied by some scrap or other.  She's screaming at him - all words he can't hear above the slowing drums.  His chest tightens with the first real pain he's felt in a while.  "I . . . I can't.  I gotta get up."</p>
<p>Sarah's eyes are ancient in her young face.  "I know you want to.  But, you can't."</p>
<p>"I just need a little more time.  A couple minutes."</p>
<p>"Daddy . . ."</p>
<p>"I just . . . I gotta rinse out my coffee mug.  Don't wanna be leaving a mess."</p>
<p>"I know.  But, we're out of time."  She rises a little and kisses his cheek.  "They're gonna end it."</p>
<p>He knows she's right.  It's been a while since they've hit him.  He can't see them anymore, but he can feel them circling, can feel the anticipation building.  "Baby girl . . ."</p>
<p>"It's okay.  Look at her.  Just look.  And let go.  I'll stay right here the whole time."</p>
<p>He pulls his eyes from the angelic face to the one still roiled in conflict.  There's tears streaming down her face and he can tell, even through the haze, that she's crying out his name.  His stubborn girl, never knowing when a cause is already lost.  He reaches out towards her.  "I love you, baby girl."</p>
<p>
  <em>(She sees his hand twitch, sees his eyes widen and his lips move soundlessly.  She can't tear her eyes away.)</em>
</p>
<p>The final blow hits him - more than a thunderclap, more than an earthquake, but there's no pain.  The blackness that follows isn't just dark; it's forgetting that light exists.  There's no sound, no sensation.  He's floating in a void.  The drums are slowing.  They boom out once.  Twice.</p>
<p>"Sarah," he whispers between heartbeats.  "I can't see you."</p>
<p>"I know."  The voice reaches him.  "It'll be over in a sec.  I'm right here with you."</p>
<p>The drumming stops.</p>
<p>
  <em>fin</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come cry with me in the comments.  Or yell at me.  You pick.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>